Distortion
by ScarletSoles
Summary: With Murdoc in jail, 2D feels like he's starting to heal and grow. That is, until he is terrorized by visions that question who he is and what he wants. Will he learn something from them, or will they collapse his view of reality entirely? [Phase 5] [2D/Ace, maybe]
1. Ascent

You never know what's real, especially not when you're plagued by mental health issues, traumatic head injuries, and strong drugs.

2-D stood in the kitchen and leaned against the island counter, looking at his watch. It had apparently been an hour since he took his pills. He got a new prescription and wanted to know how long it would take for the new drugs to kick in. He had developed enough of a tolerance to his old meds that his doctor put him on a trial for experimental painkillers. 2-D sighed and rubbed his temples as his headache worsened. Some things never change.

The man poured out another pill into his palm and stared at it. It was so small, but could do so much to him. Soothe him or knock him out entirely. Maybe worse. Oh, well. He swallowed the extra pill and hoped for the best.

He looked around the room to the clock on the microwave, then back at his watch; the times were almost 20 minutes apart. Which clock had he looked at when he took his pills, how long had it really been? He had no idea.

Then 2-D caught his own gaze in the reflective door on the microwave. He almost didn't recognize the man looking back at him. Fewer creases between his eyes and more by the corners of his lips. Smile lines. He was heavier, too. Russ said that gaining weight meant he was doing better. Being healthier.

2-D thought he probably was doing better, and thought his friend probably wasn't lying, but he wasn't sure. 2-D was never sure about anything, except that people, good and bad alike, lie.

He'd like to think he was getting better since Murdoc went to jail. He didn't like to think about Murdoc being in jail, though, as he felt some guilt for his part in that. He just liked to think that Murdoc wasn't there.

2-D shifted and saw that his reflection in the warped metal microwave door was distorted, with a comically large head. He laughed at the impromptu fun-house mirror, and moved around, watching how the dips and swells in the metal made him look like he had a huge belly or nose or biceps, so he raised his arms and flexed. "Look at me!" he declared, and laughed hard. He looked so good these days!

He knew if someone had heard that, they might call him cocky, but honestly, the good feeling he got was worth putting some people off over. Who cares that he feels good about himself for once? That doesn't make him a prick, he thought. The last nine months had been such an illuminating journey for him, to take control of his own life, to live and love with minimal fear and pain, spreading his wings. It was like he was walking along a high ridge, with a clear, wide sky above, and gaping canyons below. Birds called but there was no one and nothing to stop him, no phones or clocks or hands or locked doors, just a man and the sun.

It was as if gravity was working in reverse, pulling him naturally upwards through the open trail on the yellow rocks, the whooshing of the wind in his ears. He was free to let the environment fill his senses, and he didn't question how, or if, he had left the studio kitchen.

The man came to a zenith and looked over the edge of the trail to a cliff. At the bottom was a canyon filled with uncountable people, holding up cell phones and cheering. For him. He looked down and grinned, feeling love radiating up towards him, these people loved him, but weren't close enough to touch him. Fans had to keep a safe distance.

2-D sat back and thought about how far he had come, about the little things and the big things that he loved about his new life. The fact that he rarely stopped to peer around a corner before entering a room, and the thrill before a show, the long bus rides, the contract negotiations, his bruise-free hips, knowing his beloved pets are safe, countless hands reaching up towards him from the venue floors.

It was good, for however long it lasted.

The singer scanned the crowd, though, and saw something strange. One fan was holding a white poster with #FreeMurdoc written in red, and Stu scoffed. Then, another lifted a similar sign. Then another, and soon the crowd was full of Murdoc support. 2-D clenched his fists and scanned the hundreds of signs to see if any of them said anything good. If there were any good signs among the bad. One poster said something different:

"What is Souk Eye About?"

That's when he felt something tighten around his neck.


	2. Zenith

The singer was thrown backwards by his neck, landing on his arse in the dirt. Shocked, he looked up to see none other than his own personal green demon.

"Murdoc?" 2-D choked out, his hand rubbing his own neck. "When did you get back?"

The green being grinned wickedly, sharp teeth glinting in the sun. "I never left."

2-D looked down to Murdoc's knees and the ground behind him, searching. Had he only imagined Murdoc's jail sentence? Was The Now Now just some sort of dream? "No..." he mumbled. "Then why is Ace here? Wasn't he here because you went to jail?"

Murdoc scoffed and poked 2-D's forehead. "I never left here, Dullard. Your brain, what's left of it."

2-D paused before he understood what the illusion before him meant. He slowly stood and brushed himself off.

"Then leave my head," he demanded quietly.

The green man laughed and swelled larger, looming. "You don't want me to."

"That's mad!" 2-D snapped. "Of course I want you out! Why would I want someone like you here, to keep hurting me from the inside?"

"Because I'm a part of you," the dark figure spoke with deep words that vibrated through the singer's heart. "You can't pretend that we never happened. You can't just throw away years of your life. What about the good times, the music, the drugs, the camaraderie, the pain we shared? The art we made together?"

2-D was silent, but he knew the vision had a point.

It continued. "It's not just the good times. You don't want to let go of the pain. You want people to know it's there, inside you. You want your heart, your being, your self known. And I'm a part of your black heart."

They stood together, looking each other in the eyes on the top of the ridge, their surroundings slowly disappearing into a blue mist.

"You're right," 2-D admitted. "But not for long. I'm getting stronger every day without you. I care more about someone else now. I'm more sorted. Fearless. Look back on what I've done without you. And I'll do more. I'm building a new heart."

Murdoc barked a laugh. "Is that so? You think the new, manic you, crashing wildly and breaking things, isn't going to burn? People hate your new prick self. Confidence isn't for you, everyone wants to trip you up, and soon they'll abandon you for acting like me." The vision was growing, the words like a thick smoke, filling 2-D's lungs. Suffocating him. "You said it yourself, you're incapable of healing. And what do you think will happen when I return for real?"

2-D sank to his knees, searching for clear air to breathe as piercing eyes watched from above, and the tirade continued.

"You think you're a hot shot because you don't flinch and hide and second-guess yourself and keep your mouth shut so much. But there are reasons that you did that, and you're munging everything up now by forgetting your place. You'll forget to protect yourself, mind and body. When I get back—for real—you'll regret who you've become."

Suddenly, as if empowered by a dark force, Murdoc picked up the singer by his shirt, looked him deep in the eyes, and growled "I'll be sure of that." The apparition swung 2D around, and hurled him off the ledge. 2-D felt the emptiness below him and yelped, falling deep into the canyon, arms flailing scrambling for purchase, for something, anything to hold onto, to thwart his descent.

But there was nothing. He couldn't stop the fall, and he started to feel a familiar emotion, one that he had hoped to be rid of: complete resignation.

Simply choosing to be happy would be about as easy as fighting against gravity. There was no point. It wouldn't work. He could feel his eyes changing as he let go and fell into the depths.

The birds faded into the distant sky. There was nothing to hold onto. Maybe there never was.


	3. Depth

Ace had just sat down on the couch and kicked off his boots to scroll through Twitter when he heard a thump in the kitchen. He stopped scrolling to wonder what it was, then stood up, put his phone in his back pocket, and walked over to investigate.

At the entryway, he scanned the kitchen, but saw no one at first. Then Ace heard breathing from below, and looked down to see his band-mate sitting on the floor, knees folded beneath him, rotating towards the entrance. Something was off about him; he was silent, but staring blankly in the general direction of the doorway, and his eyes were black.

"Stu!" Ace called and sped over to his friend, reaching a hand out to help him up. But 2-D didn't return the reach; instead he yelped, crouched forward in a ball on the ground, and covered his head with his arms.

Ace froze and tried to analyze what had just happened. Nine months ago, this reaction might not have been surprising. Nine months ago, when Ace first joined the band, Stu flinched regularly at sudden movements and touches, and would stare silently at the green man whenever he became animated about anything. 2-D even hesitated to shake Ace's hand when they first met, and didn't come with them to the bar that first night, citing headaches.

Ace was offended at first, but then responded by treating 2-D the way you'd treat a skittish cat, letting the singer warm up to him at his own pace, if at all. Ace had learned to respect boundaries well, and spoke softly and didn't touch his band mate. He learned not to point out when 2-D said something stupid, even though that was a lot. He learned to clack his heels on the floor before walking close to Stu, to subtlety announce his presence and not surprise him.

That, or something, had worked exceptionally well. Stu slowly began asking the bass player about his musical technique, and offering to carry his instruments, and a few weeks into practice they were going to bars together. A month in, Stu laughed loudly at jokes, when he understood them. Two months in, 2-D would talk at length, telling rambling stories that Ace thought were annoying. Soon, 2-D was flexing in pictures, trying to learn to cook for the rest of the band, standing on tables, wearing strange clothes, coming home at odd hours, and even locking arms with his band-mates when drunk. At some point, the blackness in his eyes had faded to white.

Ace hadn't seen Stu flinch in at least a month. Hell, just last night the two were sitting on the couch, with 2-D's arm around Ace's waist, sharing the same blanket and the same cigarette. In the small hours of the night, they had shared a lot more than that. Their hopes for the future, their fears from the past, some ideas for the band, a lot of which, come morning, would appear nonsensical and stupid. But it didn't matter; Ace loved watching the singer turn from some sort of impregnable fortress to an open garden, offering flowers.

Yet here the singer was, cowering on the kitchen floor as though Ace had pointed some sort of flamethrower at him. Ace stopped and was silent, then bent down to sit on his knees. He took off his black leather jacket and draped it around his friend's back, then patiently waited for a response.

It was a tense minute, but Stuart eventually peeked through his arms to look up. He looked in Ace's general direction, but not at his face. Ace watched carefully for what to do next, unsure.

Slowly, 2-D sat up on his knees and laughed awkwardly, head down. "Eh, sorry mate."

Ace ignored the apology and took this as an opportunity to speak. "Are you ok? I heard a sound; are you hurt?"

"No...no," 2-D responded. "I don't feel anything."

"Well, what happened? Why are your eyes black?"

2-D reached up with his right hand, but then put it down. "Eh, oh, they changed again? I don't know why. I don't know anything."

Ace paused, unsure how to continue, and whether he would get any answers. "It's like a mood ring thing, right?" He ventured. "They were black when I first met you."

"I don't know. I don't know. You know the blackness is because Murdoc..." he trailed off, then brought his hands together and created a bridge with his fingers. "God...do we know when he's coming back?"

"No idea. Why?"

Stuart sighed. "Ace, can I tell you something?"

That's all Ace really wanted. "Yeah Stu, what's up?"

"I...don't know how I'm going to deal with it when he gets back. I don't think I can survive it."

"Sure you can, buddy! You lived with him for years! Just do what you did before!"

"Before was different, Ace. That was different. I was different." Stuart got increasingly animated, clenching his fists, but he still wouldn't look at Ace directly. "Most of the time I was either scared or numb. That's how I survived. And I don't want to be like that again, ok? I'm not going back to that, I won't go back. I'm not going back!"

Ace was thrown off-guard, having never seen 2-D so energized and upset at the same time. Ace put his hands up to try to stem the emotional words.

"Hey! Ok, ok you're not going back to that. It looks to me like you changed a lot. You can still be happy when he gets back!"

A pause. "I feel like there's no right answer for me, though. Do you think I've been... too happy lately? Am I upsetting people?"

Ace wasn't sure what that meant, and thought back on it. Maybe D had been a little manic in the last month...even obnoxious. But it was ultimately harmless, Ace decided. Besides, it had brought the two together, with mostly positive exchanges, and much less secondhand sadness than when they had first met.

"No one can tell you to stop being happy, Stu. You know, maybe you've gone a little wild lately, maybe the pendulum swung too far the other way. But you're not really hurting anyone. It's only your business that you stay confident as long as you can. I know your life has been pretty rough for a while, and I think you deserve to have this for a bit. "

"Yeah. I don't know. I guess it was just a bit. It might be over now," 2-D said, and looked to the side. "I just saw some stuff...eh...I don't know if it was real...but I think I learned some things about myself, just now. I like being confident, but maybe it's not meant to be. I think just now I had some sort of, of breakdown." He laughed nervously.

Ace was surprised and a bit emotionally strained. It was strange that he needed to dole out so much reassurance to someone who just a month before had confidently called himself a "guru of transatlantic meditation." But he really didn't want 2-D to slide back into the clinically anxious wallflower that he had been, for sure. He really wanted to reach out and hold his friend close, to stroke his hair and keep him warm in Ace's jacket and arms. But Ace figured that, based on the body language he was observing, 2-D's stiff shoulders and downward gaze, Stu didn't want any physical closeness right now. Ace continued with the reassuring words instead.

"Hey, or maybe you just had a break through , huh?" Ace suggested. "Maybe you're not suited to be exactly like you been in the last month, but maybe you'll even out. The pendulum will swing back and forth a few times and you can come to sort of a happy middle. Having one bad day doesn't mean you're doomed! You're going to have mostly good days. You're going to be ok."

The corners of Stuart's mouth looked like they were turning up at this, Ace thought. Ace's words were like the hand he had reached out with just a few minutes ago: an intimate offering of support and connection. Stu's gaze slowly rose from the floor, and it seemed as though he was about to reach back with his heart and hold on to them. To hold on to Ace.


	4. Plateau

A/N: This is the end! I think this is the best fic I've ever done so please R&R!

"You're going to be ok."

2-D didn't know if it was true, but hearing it, and knowing someone cared enough to tell him, helped. He didn't want to be lied to, but he wanted someone to care. Ace's words were like a gift that he wanted to reach out and take. He opened his mouth to thank his friend, but was stopped by the feeling of a buzzing mobile in his back pocket.

Stu reached back and took out his phone, which was covered in an enormous plastic case. He figured he would glance at a presumably meaningless message before returning to talk to Ace.

But it was Noodle who had sent him the messages, and he wanted to be sure she was ok.

The first thing he saw was a picture of a yak. "Oh, what a cutie!" he said, and smiled. Then, he squinted, and read the messages, smile turning into a grimace. "It can't be…"

2-D passed the phone to his curious friend. "What does that say? That can't be real. I got it wrong, tell me that, yeah?"

Ace scrolled through the text, which took a minute as the font was enormous. "Oh man, Stu...no, he's back.

2-D already had his hands balled into fists, pressing the heel of his palms on his temples. This wasn't right. This wasn't happening. He didn't know whether to push away his emotions and retreat into a numb shell, or to scream.

Then, he heard Ace's low voice. "D! It's ok! Look, you're right, this isn't great, but I mean it when I say you're gonna be ok! The new you can handle this!" Stu took a shaky breath, and Ace continued, setting the phone down to his side. "Look, you don't have to go back. You're not going to. Maybe Murdoc will be different now. And you're different now!"

2-D didn't move, and spoke lowly. "We're different when we're apart. It will be more of the same terror when he's back. What's to stop us from going back the minute he gets back? What's the difference?"

Ace reached his hand out to 2D, leaving his palm right in his field of vision. Stu jumped slightly and lowered his arms, then cautiously put his hand on Ace's. "Let me help you up," said Ace.

2D looked at the offered hand cautiously, and reached out to clasp it, slightly trembling. Together they stood, pulling on each other to rise to their feet. They stayed hand-in-hand, chests close. 2-D could feel Ace's breath on his forehead and the warmth from his body, jacket still on his back, face still pointed down.

Ace continued, soft and low.

"The difference is you have me now."

2-D narrowed his eyes and looked up, meeting Ace's gaze for the first time that day.

Not warmly, though. Skeptical.

"Thanks," he murmured. "But I know you're gonna leave as soon as the tour is over. Then I'll just be a character in your memoir."

"No, I won't," Ace replied with conviction. "Because I'm not just a band member anymore. I'm your friend, and I'll be here for you. I'll be here _with_ you. I'm staying long after the tour is over. We're together now."

2-D wanted so badly to trust him, their eyes locking, their words connecting their souls together. It was as though Ace's emotional embrace was a net, catching the singer before he could descend into free-fall. "Promise?"

"I swear, I'll stay."

2-D didn't know much, and he often wasn't sure what was and wasn't real. But in that moment, he was more sure of Ace's words than of anything else in his life. He knew that Ace's friendship was real.

He knew that Ace would stay.


End file.
